


So Teach Us Things Worth Knowing

by cornmother



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornmother/pseuds/cornmother
Summary: A young muggleborn first year finds that being a witch is not quite what she thought it would be.





	So Teach Us Things Worth Knowing

It was dark in the Room of Requirement. Dim moonlight moved across the floor and wall-- was it the real moon out there through the high windows, or just a glowing picture the Room had made on the skin of the glass? Moira lay quietly in her hammock, and wondered, thinking of the sky outside, and the sky above her house in Bath, and her old window which pointed inward to a narrow courtyard and kept her bedroom dark and secret.

“The Room moves around inside the walls,” said Luna in December, before Moira had even been inside. “It reaches out its doors through the castle, like arms through a coat with too many sleeves.” It took Moira a while to understand Luna’s way of talking, just like it took Moira a while to understand the Hogwarts letter, when it first arrived, dropped on the welcome mat outside her front door. You have to rearrange your whole mind to understand something like that. And she had to keep rearranging. Nothing stayed still, like the Room, moving through the castle, and opening its eyes into various hallways and rooms.

Above and around her, suspended between pillars and from wall to wall, other hammocks were swollen black shapes in the gray darkness. Two chess pieces were whispering to each other on the table in front of the extinguished fire. There was only one door in the Room right now, in the center of the far wall-- Moira preferred when there is only one. It was closed and locked. Neville wasn’t back yet, but it wa still early. Before he left, he told Moira that he’d be back by the morning, when it’s time to wake up. She kept her eyes on the door, and she holds the two flat pieces of metal which she kept in her pocket-- the coin, and the other thing.

 

Moira arrived early at Platform 9¾. Her mother had wanted to stay, to see real magic, and all the other students and their parents, witches and wizards, and did they really bring owls and toads to school? But she had to get to work, even on the day Moira was leaving, and so she left Moira settled in a compartment in the first car where the conductor could look in on her, and Moira held the family cat Taggy, who was now just her cat, tightly as he tried to squirm out of her arms. She watched out the window as the other students arrived. They did have owls, and even a few toads, and their parents did do magic, levitating their trunks and cleaning stains from their shirts and, in one case, popping entirely out of existence like a light switch flicking off.

“Hello, there!” said a loud voice and Moira pivoted in her seat to stare wide-eyed up at the boy standing in the compartment door, already in his neatly-pressed robes, hair sharply parted and a shiny badge displayed proudly on his chest. He seemed awfully tall, and his voice and manner made him big enough to fill the room.

“Hello,” said Moira.

“Ernie Macmillan,” the boy said and stuck his hand out. Moira shook, managing just barely to cling onto Taggy with her other arm. “A first year, eh? Looking forward to starting your magical education? Bit nervous though? I see you’re here early, all ready to set off. Always pays to be early, is my philosophy! No way to get ahead like literally getting there ahead!”

Moira, who was relieved that any input in the conversation on her part did not seem required, nodded her head slightly as Ernie talked on.

“You’ll probably be seeing an awful lot of me, even if you’re not in Hufflepuff (my house, you know) since I am this year’s Head Boy, and responsible for the whole lot of you! And not just your behavior either, but your wellbeing! Feel free to ask me any questions you have, or for any advice, as goodness knows I certainly have a lot of that to give out!”

Here he paused, but only for a moment, and before Moira could think of some advice to ask for, his face crumpled into a frown and he crossed the compartment quickly and drew open the window, sticking his head and shoulders out of the train and aiming his voice down at a girl who seemed to have been blowing huge pink bubbles out of the end of her wand for the amusement of a younger boy who seemed to be her brother.

“Now there, Tabitha! Just because the school year’s almost started doesn’t mean we’re at Hogwarts yet! No underage magic on the train station or the Express, you know the rules!”

The girl stuck her tongue out at Ernie and tucked her wand back into the sleeve of her dress.

“Ernie,” said a voice and again Moira twisted around to see someone else standing framed in the compartment door, this time a girl with red hair, patched clothes, and grass stains on both her knees.

“Ah, Weasley!” said Ernie bombastically.

Weasley looked sideways at Moira, and then pulled Ernie into the train corridor. They had a whispered conversation, which Moira could hear most of, though she didn’t understand much-- what was the D.A.? Who was Harry? Something about the professors, about her brother, about coins, and a ministry of magic.

“I’m sorry, Weasley,” said Ernie, “I have several duties that I must complete before the prefect meeting at--”

Weasley said a few words that Moira had never heard before, though she was pretty sure they weren’t a magic spell. Ernie huffed, said “well I never!”, and poked his head back into Moira’s compartment, smoothing out his frown into a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Moira! Best of luck!” he said, and bustled off down the corridor, looking important and Head Boy-ish, but slightly more preoccupied then before, a hand clutched tight around something small in his pocket.

Weasley regarded Moira through the open door, from her trainers which she had cleaned this morning in preparation, to her yellow scrunchie which until just now she had been rather pleased with, but upon reflection she thought probably looked rather silly and overly ornamental. Taggy was still continuing his valiant quest to escape, and Moira rather wished she had accepted her mother’s offer to bring the plastic mesh pet carrier, even if it didn’t look very witchy.

“Who dropped you off?” Weasley asked.

“My mum,” said Moira.

“She’s a muggle?” asked Weasley.

“A what?” said Moira, but Weasley didn’t clarify, just nodded thoughtfully. Was she making fun of her? But she looked kind, and a little sad, as she tucked her hair behind her ear and spoke softly.

“You should be careful,” she said. She looked over her shoulder, and then said, in a lower voice. “I know you’re excited. Magic is very wonderful, and it’s so much fun to make new friends, but not all wizards are very nice. I don’t want to scare you,” she added, though this didn’t really help to reassure Moira, “but at first it might be better if you are very quiet, and stay close to someone who can help you. You don’t know who you can trust,” and she looked almost pained. “Moira, you don’t know if you can trust anybody. Oi!” she yelled suddenly, and Moira startled, but Weasley was looking to her left down the corridor. “Seamus! Hold on a minute!” She turned back briefly, said, “I’ll be back later,” and hurried off down the corridor.

Moira turned to look out the window again. Somehow, the scene didn’t seem as inviting any more. Many of the older children, and most of the parents, she noticed, were looking worried and careworn beyond the usual difficulties of travel, or saying goodbye until holidays. There was a seventeen-year-old boy, a grown-up really, who was sitting directly on the platform next to his trunk and crying, and no one was doing or saying anything to help him. It was strange-- nightmarish. It was almost grotesque.

“Hello?”

Moira turned for a third time to see someone outside the compartment, a girl about her age with black hair and a huge horned owl in a cage (Taggy went briefly berserk).

“Can I sit here?” said the girl. She looked nervous, but excited. She had her wand out already, as if she couldn’t wait to get started

Moira nodded, but didn’t say anything to the girl as she set down her owl and settled herself carefully on her seat. She didn’t say anything to the next girl who joined them in the compartment, or the pair of boys who tumbled over each other loading their trunks into the overhead racks. She didn’t say anything at all.

 

There was a small noise behind the door. Moira sat up in her hammock, which set it swinging slightly. Moira still wasn’t quite used to sleeping in a hammock, though she had stopped falling out in the middle of the night, at least. She watched the door. 

The handle turned slowly, unnecessarily so in Moira’s opinion, and then the door opened and Neville Longbottom stepped into the Room of Requirement. He closed the door carefully, and it clicked shut and then faded softly into the wall until it was completely dissolved. Neville set his bag and cloak on hooks next to where the door had been, and toed off his shoes next to the dead fire, which hissed softly, a few embers sputtering and starting to glow. Neville was the best at the Room, the subtle things, finding a particular book in the bookcases or getting the blankets soft and the right size. The Room listened to his thoughts just right, or Neville thought them well. Moira thought maybe Luna would have been good at this too, but of course she was gone before they had started using the Room full-time like this. Moira would have to ask someone what Luna had been like with the Room before, in her fifth year when the DA had started.

Neville stood in his sock feet and leaned back against the wall, his head falling back against the Gryffindor banner. He looked exhausted. It must have been nearly one in the morning. In the darkness, the bruises around his eyes and left cheek could have been shadows, but there was no hiding the exhausted slump of his shoulders, the way he seemed unable to gather the energy to even cross to his hammock and lay down.

He opened his eyes again, and finally saw Moira, sitting up and looking at him. He pulled the ghost of a smile onto his purpled face.

“Can’t sleep?” he mouthed at her, and she shook her head.

The Gryffindor lion reared rampant over him, shining in the moonlight.

 

“Do you know what the houses are?”

Moira shook her head. The train corridor was quiet-- the candy trolley had passed through ages ago, and most of the students were huddled together in their compartments, or starting to change into their school robes. Across from Moira were Weasley and a girl who seemed to have large mushrooms growing out of one side of her pointed black hat. Because of the rumbling movement of the train, Moira was holding onto the lintel of the compartment window, and ignoring the other first years inside who she thought were probably trying to stare at her and the two seventh-year girls.

“There are four houses at Hogwarts. At the feast, you’ll be sorted into one-- McGonagall will tell you. First years go up to the castle together, but when you get to the Great Hall and you’re sorted, you need to find a member of the DA.”

“What’s that?” asked Moira. Weasley hesitated for a second, then plowed on.

“Listen, if you’re sorted into Gryffindor, come sit by me. If you’re a Ravenclaw, sit by Luna,” she indicated the other girl, and Moira tried not to look at the mushroom hat. ”If you’re a Hufflepuff--” but what Moira was supposed to do if she was sorted into Hufflepuff House was drowned out by the huge squeal of the Hogwarts Express’ breaks as it slowed rapidly and noisily to a standstill.

“What’s happening,” asked the girl with the horned owl, who had opened the compartment door to look out.

“Are we there?” shouted one of the boys.

“Idiot, we’re in the middle of a field!” shouted another.

“Luna,” said Weasley, “Go and get--” but she was cut off again, this time by a magnified voice that pulsed through Moira’s head like a siren.

“Students,” said the voice, gruff and female, “remain calm. Stay in your compartments, and--”

“It’s the sister,” said the girl named Luna vaguely, who was the only one who didn’t seemed discomfited by the voice which was broadcast directly into everyone’s heads.

“What?” said Weasley, wincing.

“A ministry official will be passing through the train,” the voice said. The girl with the horned owl was holding her ears and looking uncomfortable.

“The short one,” said Luna. “I got her with a Jellylegs in the Battle of the Astronomy Tower.”

Weasley turned wide-eyed to Moira.

“Be prepared to give your name and your blood status. If you are asked to exit your compartment, leave your personal belongings and--”

“We’ve got to go,” said Weasley, whispered but urgent, grabbing Moira painfully by the arm and hauling her down the corridor away from the front of the train. They both almost tripped over Taggy, but Moira scooped him up, not even feeling his claws as Weasley pulled her on, into the next carriage, leaving Luna and the girl with the horned owl behind them, and then the next carriage, and the next.

Despite the voice’s warning, students were opening compartment doors all down the train, calling out to each other in confusion, or fear. A boy stepped out into the corridor in front of Ginny, and Moira almost screamed, but Ginny put her hand on his arm and said, “Neville!”

“It’s happening,” Neville said, “it’s happening so soon.”

“It’s just muggleborns,” said a girl from another compartment, and she let out a little laugh. Moira realized it was the girl named Tabitha, who had been blowing bubbles on the platform for her little brother. “Which of them would be stupid enough to even be here?”

Neville looked at Weasley. “Dean--” he said.

“No,” said Weasley, “months ago--”

“What are you doing, Weasley?” said someone else, a girl with a face like a pug, and a shiny badge on the front her robes. In the compartment behind her, Moira saw more students, most of them older, all with badges, and an array of expressions from bafflement to smug certainty. Weasley stepped back, and Moira realized that she had her wand out in one hand.

“If you didn’t know, Weasley,” said the pug-faced girl, “I  _ am  _ your Head Girl. And I would like to know what you’re doing out of your compartment. You too, Longbottom.”

Neville opened his mouth, but then the door from the adjoining car opened, and a man entered, a squat man with a doughy face, small eyes, and immaculate black robes.

“Professor Carrow,” said the girl immediately.

“ _ Who _ ?” said Ginny, almost with a laugh.

“I was just asking these blood traitors,” said the girl, “what they are doing disobeying the direct orders of Hogwarts and the Ministry.”

Taggy, who had still been squirming, tensed and bristled, his hackles rising. Professor Carrow peered at them with his beady eyes-- Neville, and Weasley in front of him, and in front of her Moira, with Taggy in her arms. Weasley, apparently realizing this, took a step forward, until she was half in front of them. She was still holding Moira’s hand. It was a moment before Carrow spoke, and when he did, it was with an unexpectedly high and wheezy voice.

“I’m more interested,” he said, “in who this is.” And he was looking directly at Moira.

“Another friend of Potter’s, I’m sure,” said the Head Girl.

“She looks like a first year,” said a boy from the room behind her.

“They were running down the corridor,” Tabitha chimed in.

Carrow waved his hand at her impatiently, and she fell silent. “What’s your name, little girl?” asked Carrow, in his wheezy voice, taking a step closer. He had a lurching walk, as if he was built slightly unevenly, or had recently been kicked in the shins. 

“Moira Roberts,” said Moira, more steadily than she would have thought..

“Not a Weasley, then,” Carrow said. Weasley squeezed Moira’s hand so tightly it hurt. “Perhaps,” he continued, “not anything.”

“No,” said a voice from the Head Girl’s compartment. “I know her. She’s my cousin.” Ernie Macmillan stepped out into the corridor. Ginny squeezed Moira’s hand again, though Moira didn’t know if it was just reflexively or to pass some kind of message on to her.

Carrow frowned, looking from Ernie to Moira, to Weasley and Neville, and back to Ernie, and the badge on his chest. It was shining like a beacon.

 

Moira climbed awkwardly out of the hammock and crossed to the fire, which was glowing more strongly now. Neville, wincing slightly, sat in one squashy armchair, and Moira sat in another. 

“What happened?” she asked.

Neville looked up at the window, where the moonlight was still drifting gently down.

“I left another message on the wall. 7th floor. I passed the info from Aberforth on to Padma-- she’ll get it to McGonagall in the morning. Had a bugger of a time getting into Ravenclaw Tower, but managed it in the end.”

Moira could remember when the older members of the DA never spoke so freely to her. Even when she had been at Hogwarts for months, when she knew who Harry Potter was, and what he had done, even when she had learned about He Who Must Not Be Named, when she learned about the trick staircase and the coup at the Ministry, how to avoid Peeves’ spitballs and torture at the hands of the Carrows, she could still often barely understand them. Listening to them was like listening to someone who spoke half in a foreign language and half in code. But there weren’t so many 7th year members of the DA now, and Neville, so tired and worn down, didn’t have the strength to be careful.

“The dungeons?” Moira asked. Neville shook his head.

“Sorry. They’ve increased security. Since Michael Corner--” and he stopped.

“What will you do tomorrow?”

Neville put his head down in his hands.

“More graffiti. And I’ll get into Ravenclaw Tower again. And I’ll--” and he once more, he stopped.

“The dungeons?” said Moira again.

“There’s nothing I can do. There must be more, but…. Moira,” he said. “What else can I do?”

Moira didn’t have anything to say. She reached into her pocket again, and pulled out the coin, and the Head Boy badge, which she looked at in the moonlight. She’d had it for two weeks, since the night she came to the Room of Requirement, and it had been her protector here. She thought of giving it to Neville, to protect him, but she was too much of a coward.

“We’ll get him out,” said Neville.

Weasley didn’t come back after Christmas. Moira wondered if she was out there, with Harry Potter, fighting. The Ministry arrived at lunch last month and grabbed Luna from the Gryffindor table, where she had taken to sitting. Was she in Azkaban, now? Was she with her father?  And then they had come for Moira, and called her a thief and a muggle, and called Ernie a liar, and now he was in the dungeons somewhere far beneath them, and she was going to be in this room, this cozy miraculous room, until she died.

Moira looked up at the moon, shining outside the window. Was it real? Or just a picture?


End file.
